


but i'm lovin' all the pain i'm causing you too much

by Aho_Mika_Baka



Category: Villains Series - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Are they out of character? I have no way of knowing, Blood, Can you call it romance? I don't know, Confusion, Flashbacks, I'm Sorry, Injury, Knives, M/M, Religion, Sneaky Bastards, Violence, angsty boys, completely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26066899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aho_Mika_Baka/pseuds/Aho_Mika_Baka
Summary: He would need to keep himself in check the next time, if there ever was a next time.Or the bloody shenanigans of vampire Victor Vale and vampire hunter Eli Ever.
Relationships: Eli Cardale | Eli Ever/Victor Vale
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	but i'm lovin' all the pain i'm causing you too much

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "[Mind Games](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QjQliDFIsnk)" by Sickick
> 
> I'm back, be it good news or not! This fic might just be all over the place, but please bear with me - I got the idea and had to write it, simple as that.
> 
> English is not and will never be my first language, so i apologise for any and all typos, grammar and spelling mistakes.
> 
> However, fellow vicious supremacists, relish!

_Thump._

A body fell to the ground, sounding eerie in the silent alley. It stayed motionless, lying behind a dirty dumpster. Victor couldn't believe he had fallen so low, having to hide in shadows and act in secret. He crouched down and reached his hand out to check the body for pulse. Slow, but there. He would need to keep himself in check the next time, if there ever was a next time. Hopefully not. Victor wouldn't even be here if his supplier hadn't had an emergency on the other side of the country.

Standing up, Victor wiped the red off his mouth and with one last glance on his surroundings, made his way out of the alley, the only sounds produced by his footsteps in heavy boots, black coat sweeping behind him. Feeding straight from the source was messy, and even though the taste was splendid, Victor thought it barely overweighed the neatness of blood packs.

Back on the main street, he tugged up the collar of his coat, and hung his head low, in case there was some scarlet left on his lips. He had no way of knowing for sure, and he didn't need anyone questioning him on that. In addition to not being able to see his own reflection, Victor appeared on no photographs or paintings – one time he had tried to have his portrait painted by this brilliant artist but the man ending up on the canvas looked nothing like him –, and so he settled on wearing all black, all the time, in contrast to his pale hair and even paler skin. The only pop of colour on him was the icy blue of his eyes and, occasionally, the red of blood on his lips.

As he made his way back to his small apartment, Victor failed to notice the trail on him, walking not too close behind, silent and unnoticed as a predator hunting its prey. The figure was tall and dark, except for the periodic glint of silver dangling from its fingers. And as Victor unlocked the door to his building, swiftly slipping inside, the figure stopped and clutched the now visible silver cross pendant into his fist.

Stepping outside the next day, Victor thanked the rainfall as he opened his umbrella and set his path towards a book shop. Not only did he need new books to ruin with his Sharpie but the courses he took in night classes at the university demanded new textbooks as well. The walk to his destination wasn't too long but he enjoyed the fresh air while he could. Furthermore, it reminded him of the 20s. The dazzling age of sleek tuxedos, trench-coats and suspenders, where people were relaxed, open-minded and curious. And jazz – the most exquisite thing to come out of 20th century.

Back then, Victor had been a bright young man, an up-and-coming doctor. People had liked him, even though he preferred the company of books and dead people. Grand parties hadn't been his forte, but he had still gone for the music. His parents had been sort of celebrities in their area of expertise, and Victor had grown up under his nanny's watchful eyes. His life had been going as planned, and he had been more or less content with it.

That until one night – closer to dawn than to dusk – when he was walking home from yet another party after refusing to ride in a cab because drunk car rides made him nauseous. The journey hadn't been too long, and yet, with the pace he was going, it took a little too much time. Victor's feet had hurt from the new Oxfords he had decided to wear – he was sure he had blisters already – as he stumbled down the quiet street, with the occasional laughter from some apartment echoing off the red brick walls.

Getting bored, he had fished out a pocket knife from his suit jacket, twisted it around in his hand, opening and closing it absentmindedly until his foot caught behind a loose rock and the blade slid into the skin of his palm, drawing blood almost immediately. Victor had sworn and dropped the knife, before pulling out his handkerchief and pushing the fabric to the leaking wound. Quickly, he gathered the knife, stuffed it into his pocket, but as he set to walking again, he hadn't got too far.

An unknown force had driven into him, slamming Victor against the cold bricks of an apartment complex and knocking his breath out. Gasping, he had raised his head to look at his abuser but instead of a possible mugger, he was met with red eyes and a savage smile, canines seeming a little too sharp to be completely normal.

Of course he had heard stories, myths and legends, but nothing really prepared one for meeting a folk tale in real life. Fighting the urge to scream, Victor had tried to duck and slip away from the vile creature, but strong hands had held him in place.

Damn the knife, damn the alcohol, damn the late night parties, he was never going to one of those again. He had cursed his life, cursed this city, and prayed for God to help. But help hadn't come.

Victor had yelped as sharp teeth sank into the base of his neck, struggled as he felt lips closing around the wound and sucking, whispered hoarse pleas as his sight started to get blurry and made one last attempt at pushing the monster away as he exhaled his final breath.

Wincing at the intruding memory, Victor huffed, annoyed at the way he still got affected by it, and sped up a little, wanting to get over with errands as soon as possible. The book shop he had in mind was small and quite messy, so Victor could get lost between the shelves whenever he felt the need to. The owner was half-blind, the usual shop assistant a bored teenager and neither of them really paid attention to any of the customers.

He stopped in front of the store, shook his umbrella dry and stepped inside, a tiny bell on the door announcing his entrance with a gentle tinkle. Hands in coat pockets, Victor strolled down the aisles, wandering around aimlessly as he waited for a book to catch his eye. For his pastime activity, he never searched for certain volumes – he simply let his gaze drift until it found something that could suit his needs. Most of the time he stuck with the first option, years of the same routine polishing his intuition.

The only thing keeping him from diving deep into his own world though, was the fact that someone was following him. He had noticed a hulking figure out of the corner of his eye on the street – it could've been anyone – but when that same figure followed him into the shop moments later, well, it got suspicious. Victor grabbed a random book on psychology from a shelf closest to him and turned the corner, where he knew to be a dead end. He stopped, turned the book over in his hands, found a five star review referencing his parents, and listened. Footsteps coming to halt behind him, most likely thrown off by the dead end situation.

Slowly turning around, Victor came face to face with a man around his age (not his _actual_ age), all dark hair, dark eyes and golden skin. One could count them opposites, even. With his best poker face, he tilted his head slightly. „And who are you?“

The man's eyebrows were furrowed, but his lips quirked up into a smirk. „Your worst nightmare,“ he said, voice smooth, with a bit of an accent.

Victor kept his expression steady, even though the confusion he felt was washing over him in waves. „Pardon?“ he asked, voice dull. Upon getting no answer, he continued with a wave of the book in his hand. „I have a book to buy. So, if you'll excuse me.“

When he tried to move past the stranger, the man effectively blocked his way. „Not so fast, devil,“ he said. „I know who you are, _what_ you are.“

Now it was time for Victor to sport a frown. „I have no idea what you're talking about, _stranger_ , and I really have to go,“ he replied through clenched teeth, fingers tightening around his book. He had no desire to find out what the guy actually knew or wanted from him, this trip to the shop was uncomfortable enough as it was.

The guy didn't move a muscle, even his facial expression stayed the same. Suddenly, he broke into a wide smile, and chuckled as if having remembered something really funny. „I'm just messing with you,“ the stranger said, looking the brightest he had since the conversation started. „Eli Ever.“

Not believing his eyes nor ears, Victor spent a few seconds on figuring out whether the man was being sincere or not, before letting the muscles in his face and body relax. He didn't trust him, he didn't trust anyone for that matter, but he decided to play his part – see where this game would lead him. „Victor Vale,“ he offered, as _Eli Ever_ finally stepped aside to let him through. Without sparing another glance at him, Victor walked straight to the cashier to pay for his pastime book, deciding to leave textbooks for another time.

„ _Behavioral Disorders of Ingenious Youths_ , huh?“ Eli declared, leaning his hip on the counter beside Victor, arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed in a worn-out leather jacket, a white T-shirt peeking out underneath, but the thing that really caught Victor's eye was the silver cross hanging from a chain around his neck. Shit.

„Yeah, I'm all about that,“ he said, making sure his voice was dripping with sarcasm as he took the receipt that was handed to him and picked up the book from the counter.

Eli laughed. „Didn't peg you for a father, Vale.“

„I'm not. I'm a pre-med.“

„No shit, me too,“ he announced, jogging to catch up to Victor who was rushing to leave the store.

To that, Victor slowed down and looked back at the stranger as he opened his umbrella, stepping into the downpour. „Lockland? How come I've never seen you?“ he asked, suddenly curious.

Eli looked.. _relieved_. „I just transferred,“ he then answered with a perfect politician's smile. „How about lunch?“

The subject was smartly averted to prevent unwanted questions from being asked and Victor could do nothing except go with the flow. Of course, what humans would call lunch was out of question for him but something made him say yes. Perhaps it was his gut telling him that something was decidedly _off_ about this Eli Ever and any attempt at misguiding him would bring consequences unbeknown to him.

Victor of course didn't mind spending his afternoons in cafés, restaurants or pubs as he quite favoured the atmosphere, although whenever he visited one, he had to be prepared. Usually he ordered a glass of water, or a cup of coffee, or sometimes, if he was feeling bold, a slice of cake, and in-between gulps or bites, he drank out of his own thermos. That mostly kept the heaves at bay. At least until he got home. But he hadn't come outdoors with the intention of dining out, and he had to think of a backup plan.

Eli was sitting opposite him, a small table by the window of a decent pop-up café separating them. He had ordered some kind of a meat sandwich and oddly enough, a glass of red wine. Victor hadn't ordered anything, confessing to having eaten before leaving home and taking medication as an excuse to not drinking – he was not willing to risk it.

„So, you really won't eat anything? I thought you were just shy,“ said Eli before taking a huge juicy bite out of his sandwich.

Victor tried not to look at the beef and lettuce hanging out from between his lunch partner's teeth.

He woke up, disoriented and nauseous. It had been a warm evening, the streets were lit and lively chatter could be heard from passersby. Victor hadn't understood where he was and why as he pushed himself up with the help of a wall behind him. His legs felt weak, his hands were shaking – had he really been so drunk that he couldn't even reach home?

He had stumbled out of the alleyway onto the street. Looking around, he tried to recall his surroundings, and events that had led him there but he could remember nothing. A total black-out.

Somewhere over the street, there had been a smack followed by a cry. A child had fallen on the sidewalk, breaking the fabric of his trousers and the skin underneath. Victor's eyes had found the accident, and suddenly he felt the need to go over there. Without paying attention to the traffic, he walked across the street, earning a few horn calls he dismissed with a startled wave of a hand. The mother of the child had been helping her offspring up and standing as Victor reached them. Opening his mouth to speak, he found no voice other than a croak leaving his mouth, his gaze glued to the blood swelling on the child's knees. The mother had yelped and pulled the child behind her, yelling at Victor to leave immediately.

Victor had been mortified. Trying to step closer had resulted in more shouting, attracting the attention of even more people. Whatever was wrong with wanting to... help. Staring at the red dripping down the child's leg, someone shoved him off the sidewalk and Victor had nearly fallen over before balancing himself. His thoughts running a thousand miles per second, he broke into a run, trying to find an answer to all the questions he had. He stopped a few crossroads away, next to a fancy boutique, and doubled over as his stomach turned, but nothing came up. The feeling of inevitable doom seemed to haunt him, leaving almost no room to the only other thought he had – he had never felt so hungry. Victor had stood up, thinking that seeing his reflection would answer his questions. Perhaps he looked like a homeless person after a rough night out. But when he looked up, he saw nothing. Victor moved around, searching for different angles, playing with light, but the window remained empty apart from the street view behind him. Heart sinking, Victor suddenly understood the feeling of calamity, the hunger, the disorientation. Everything came back all at once, and never before had he wanted to die that badly.

Shaking his head with jerky movements, Victor finally answered. „You caught me red-handed.“

Eli let out a rough chuckle while setting his meal aside in favour of his glass of wine, the deep red liquid swaying lazily in response. „You're a strange man, Vale,“ he claimed, raising the glass to his lips and sipping sluggishly, brown eyes glued on Victor's pale face.

„Is that so?“ Victor replied, „Care to elaborate?“

„A pre-med in a small town of Merit, sarcasm as a defense mechanism, special diet, not religious – don't think I haven't noticed you glancing at my cross – and I'm guessing all black everything is not entirely a fashion choice.“

„Well, aren't you a perceptive one?“ Resting his chin on his hand, Victor decided to answer similarly. „A pre-med at Merit, curious to a fault while not saying a word about himself, _religious_ , _and_ a new kid in town.“

That seemed to shut Eli up for the time being, but the smug look on his face had no intention of disappearing any time soon, and Victor found that to be either very unsettling or extremely annoying. There was something decidedly _wrong_ about this whole situation and he was, involuntarily, getting anxious. Either that, or it was simply his stomach turning at the sight of red wine in Eli's glass. It looked too much like blood, even though it wasn't nearly as thick.

Luckily, Eli cut the silence again. „I take it you're an old soul.“

Victor forced himself to snort. „Whatever does that mean?“ he asked.

„You know, when a person's soul seems much older than the body it's in.“ Eli responded. „You just seem like a guy who prefers old things – letters to e-mails, radio to television, opera to movie theater, and so on, you get me?“

„Yes,“ Victor said, thoughts running marathons before they finally came to a stop in front of the only possible conclusion. „You're right.“ From that moment forward, there was no going back – this was a game two could play. „And you – belief to science, blades to guns... and hunting to saving.“

Eli's eyes obtained a darker shade, as if a shadow had fallen over his face, twisting his expression into something more feral. Had they been anywhere else, Victor would've been feeling uneasy about the further development of this situation. But they were where they were and there was nothing neither of them could act upon.

After moments of silence, Eli smiled a sharp, lopsided smile. „I fear you've figured me out,“ he said before downing all that was left of his wine, wiped his mouth and stood abruptly. „We need some fresh air. Walk with me?“

Victor hesitated as he looked at the man standing in front of him but nodded curtly, pushing himself up. The rain had stopped anyway.

He had no idea what to do. His stomach had felt like it was eating itself, discomfort running over him in waves. Could he go home? What would he do there? Body rocking with tremors, Victor had stumbled along the road that night, feet dragging across the pavement, new Oxfrods looking more worn as minutes passed. He wanted to think that he had always managed alone but that wasn't the truth. As alone as he had felt growing up couldn't compare to the feeling of loneliness he had felt after reality smacked him in the face. With no one to turn to with his problem, Victor had walked until he was far away, until his feet hurt, until his sight turned blurry and his head was empty.

„ –uld you call me crazy if I told you I believed in those old folk tales?“

Victor blinked hard to pull himself away from yet another flashback to the days decades ago, and tried to recall the beginning of what Eli had just told him. „Which ones?“ he finally managed.

Eli, that bastard, chuckled. „You should pay more attention,“ he said, tone edging on mockery as he set his gaze on Victor's face. „But okay, you know, the ones with vampires and stuff.“

How he managed to stay nonchalant after such a statement was beyond Victor's comprehension. He forced out a sneering huff and while he hoped Eli wouldn't catch on, felt his inhumanly slow heartbeat accelerating slightly. „These children's stories?“

„You have a very weird conception of _children's_ stories.“

„Whatever, they're fiction. You really believe in the existence of vampires and werewolves?“

„Yes, I do,“ Eli said in all seriousness. „And you don't? There are _hundreds_ of cases where people claim to have seen, been in contact with or actually _being_ a vampire, and you say that _none_ of these have wavered your opinion about them?“ he then asked, disbelieving.

Sighing, Victor shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. „What can I say, I'm a man of science.“ He looked directly at Eli as he said it and held eye contact for a long moment before stopping. The air turned different there, stifling.

Eli halted a few steps ahead, a massive gothic gate to his left and the cross on his chest glinting ominously in the dull daylight. A church. They were standing metres away from an old church, it's dark towers rising to the sky, king-sized front doors open and inviting. As if on cue, the clock struck full hour and the gloomy bells chimed, the deep sound echoing all over the city and resonating within Victor's bones.

He had to take a deep breath to steady himself, to stop himself from bolting. It's not like religious tokens affected him drastically, but the discomfort was there. Having lost his faith nearly a century ago didn't help either.

„You okay, Vic?“ asked Eli, stepping closer and closer until the only way for Victor to go was through the gates. His tone was sincere but the look on his face and the manner in which he held his body suggested otherwise.

Victor scoffed, gnawed on his lip. He tilted his head towards Eli and freed his hands from the pockets of his coat to shrug wide and open. „I'm not religious – you said so yourself.“

To that, Eli frowned. His fingers shifted, reached towards the inside of his wrist, inside his sleeve. He started walking, leading Victor backwards, closer to the church, closer to the imminent outcome.

Victor cursed under his breath. He had been right. Walking crookedly, he reached inside his pocket once more, trying to keep the action hidden from the man forcing him into a corner. Seemed a little ironic how he still kept the very pocket knife from that night on his person at all times. His life ended with that knife, and could possibly end someone else's too.

Brown stared into blue, both of their steps carefully calculated with the distance between them lessening gradually. Then, Eli hurled a knife towards Victor. Silver caught the little light there was beautifully and Victor would've appreciated it more if it wasn't flying straight for his head.

He dodged, stepping out to balance his tilted body and held the elegantly carved pocket knife in front of him, the handle securely in his fist, the worn out blade sticking out from the end, before throwing his umbrella to the side. Eli's knife clattered against the stone wall of the holy building, finding its place on the ground, lost between tufts of unevenly cut grass.

Another dagger appeared into Eli's hand, ready to cut or be thrown. Instead, he lunged, reaching Victor with two long steps, and lashed the blade inches from Victor's chest. Victor exhaled, but wasn't about to sit tight and wait for another strike. He drove his knife forward, took a step closer, got a hit across Eli's cheekbone with his fist and then slammed his foot hard into his chest.

Eli stammered back but stayed on his feet, making a quick work of grabbing Victor's ankle and twisting it to disturb his balance. Victor struggled to hop on one foot but switched hands and striked with his knife once more, targeting Eli's thigh while another blade whirred over his head. Victor tried again, this time getting a cut on Eli's forearm, tearing through the leather and outer layers of skin. His leg was released and he tipped sideways, shooting an arm out to stop his fall as he landed on one knee.

Unfortunately, Eli recovered within a second and was back on him with two daggers – how many did he have? –, each flashing past him from different angles. Victor took a cut to his collar bone, nearly getting gutted with the second blade. He grabbed Eli's arm, wrenching it down to perhaps dislocate something, but the man's exceptional physique didn't let that happen. Eli saw this as an opportunity though, and shifted them both so Victor's back was against Eli's chest, Eli's arms tight around Victor's neck as he attempted to cut off his air.

Victor kicked his heels back at Eli's feet, oxygen running low, hands scrambling to pry off Eli's arms. Seeing that it was not working, Victor started leaning forward, pulling Eli with him. They wrestled like that for a few moments until one of them heaved the other down with him, so they ended up on the ground, each crawling on opposite sides before pouncing again, Victor with his knife and fists, Eli with his daggers. A punch to Eli's nose, a hit to Victor's jaw. Eli crouched and aimed low, slashing a long cut on Victor's hip before coming up to punch Victor's face, which he blocked with a braced arm. The block serving as a distraction to Eli, Victor got the chance to slam a knee into his stomach.

After a moment's rest, Eli was standing straight again, and roared out loud as he directed one of his daggers at Victor's face. The point of the blade only slightly grazing his nose, Victor managed to shoot his hands out in front of him to prevent further damage, grasping at Eli's arm and wrist to stop the blade's journey. His hands were shaking, sweat dripping from his temples, and Eli was pushing with so much raw strength that Victor was finding it harder and harder to keep his footing steady. Making a sharp step to the side, he avoided the eventual strike of a dagger and lashed at Eli's head with his own, maybe or maybe not scratching his jaw. He then targeted his knees with his foot a few times, before ducking low and charging forward with his whole body. He forced Eli back, back, back – Eli's elbows consistently coming down on his shoulders – until his body hit the church with a satisfying thud.

Eli's head cracked against the stone and made him lose a grip on one of his daggers. Victor took the liberty of grinning wolfishly as he straightened, thrusting his knife under Eli's jaw and trapping him. „Is that all?“ he asked, panting. Eli's eyes found his, a knowing glint flashing behind the brown before pain exploded in his receptors.

Victor hissed, vision dotting with white as he looked down and found a small dagger jutting out of his thigh. While he focused on keeping himself upright, Eli turned them around, shoving Victor's back against the church and it was so much like that night–

Fingers grabbed at his hair, pulling his head up – and some hair out – so he was looking straight at Eli, seeing nothing but Eli. A punch to his diaphragm, stealing the air from his lungs and as much as he wanted to collapse to the ground, the hand in his locks kept him standing, a well as the forearm pressing into his windpipe and the shin on his thigh too close to the blade in it.

„Consider yourself lucky I didn't bring any silver,“ said Eli, pressing into Victor with his whole body, eliciting a cry of pain from his lips. The fact that he wasn't exactly alive didn't make the injuries hurt any less.

Victor forced his eyes open. Eli's cheek was bruising, blood from his nose dripping on his white shirt, and the look in his eyes was positively savage. Victor could smell the blood, all that fresh blood smothering everything else. Failing to keep himself at bay, he bared his sharpened canines, tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he trembled from the adrenaline released during the fight or the extent of his wounds or the delving hunger or the close proximity of another human being or–

„This ends here, _blood_ _sucker_.“

And suddenly, Victor shook with laughter that started out inaudibly but grew into a wheezing sound soon enough, echoing all over the church yard. „I never once doubted your profession,“ he said before spitting just past Eli's shoulder, „ _h_ _unter_.“ If it weren't for the scent clouding his mind, Victor would've come up with something much more sassier but this had to do – he was still trapped. „Though how do you mean to end this exactly? The only knives I see are the one in my thigh, and the one in my hand.“ Eli's hold on him faltered as he let out a gasp – Victor had driven his pocket knife into Eli's leg.

„Now we're even,“ he snapped, pushing the man off of him. Eli staggered backwards, landing on his back; Victor coughed a few times, catching his breath as he slid down the wall behind him. He grabbed a hold of the dagger in his flesh, took a deep breath and yanked it out, whisking it away from them both. He let the injured leg straighten out and pressed the edge of his coat on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding.

Panting, Eli pushed himself into a sitting position to take a calculating look at his own matching wound before pulling out a stray band of fabric from the inside pocket of his jacket and wrapping it around his thigh, temporarily tourniquetting it. All while doing it, he kept stealing glances at Victor, keeping an eye on him and whether he would attack again. Snorting, he opened his mouth. „Hungry, Vale?“

As desperately as he wanted to ignore that comment, the only colour fogging his thoughts was indeed _red_ , _red_ , _red_. Having done this last night should've been enough. It _was_ enough, he told himself as he stood with the help of the wall behind him. It was enough, he told himself as he walked over to the hunter. It was _enough_ , he told himself as he kneeled in front of him. Raising his head, dizzy from want, Victor's blue eyes locked with Eli's as his hand travelled forward, took a hold of his pocket knife, and tugged it out, slow and painful. Eli made a noise somewhere in his throat, cursing hoarsely. The blade dripped blood, drop after drop meeting the soft green grass. It was almost hypnotizing.

He couldn't say whether Eli looked disgusted or intrigued. His face was twisted into something incomprehensible, or perhaps resembled a modern sculpture, changing its look depending on which side you look at it. Whatever the case, the aftermath of their combat was surging through his veins and despite the ever-watchful eyes of the church towering behind them, Victor raised the knife to his lips. Strong fingers grabbed his wrist and he looked down to find Eli staring at him, the space between his eyebrows creased with his other hand holding on to the cross hanging from his neck. Victor smirked and dragged his tongue over the bloodied blade.

Eli exhaled loudly somewhere under him but Victor couldn't focus on anything other than the sweet metallic taste covering his tongue. It was little different from what he had tried in the past, but hell, if that wasn't intoxicating, he didn't know what was. His fingers itched to get more. Looking down at the hunter, he found him with his eyes closed, lips spilling different prayers as the knuckles of the hand holding on to the pendant turned white with tension. His eyes drifted along his face, stopping on the blood under Eli's nose. Victor propped a hand on the ground to support his weight as he leaned forward, slipping his fingers along the red and collecting every wet drop.

When was the last time he had allowed himself to enjoy eating? For the longest time he had been ashamed – of himself, of the measures, of everything that eventually became a part of his new life. Once he stopped beating himself up over it, he simply got used to it and made it a part of his routine. Mundane and unimportant. Whenever he saw people around him having fun and taking pleasure in eating out with their friends and families, he couldn't imagine himself in their place. The picture inside his head just kept getting more _wrong_ every time he tried to. And now, now he had almost forgotten how to.

 _Almost_. Because Eli's eyes had settled on the hand he had brought up to his mouth to lick off the blood. Verging on delirious, Victor smirked. The situation he was in wasn't exactly safe, nor conventional, and he knew he should flee before it turned for the worse. But he couldn't help himself – not with the way Eli watched his every move, not with the way Eli paid attention to the impurity going on in front of him, muttering the Holy Father's name over and over again.

_Our Father who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name..._

A hand grabbed the back of his neck just as Victor was about to lean lower, holding him in place, keeping him at eye level. Victor's hand sneaked down and stopped on Eli's thigh before he pushed his thumb to the knife wound in it with a vicious grin. Eli sucked air in from between his clenched teeth as he tightened his hold on Victor's nape, who made a grimace at the action.

_And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil..._

Bruised and bloody, neither of them seemed too eager to start another fight, nor leave each other alone. The tension between them sparkled with static; they were like magnets, pushing, and pulling when pushing didn't work.

„You monster..“ whispered Eli when Victor raised his hand, covered in Eli's blood, to his lips, enjoying the scent, the freshness of it before dragging his tongue over the scarlet.

Victor then leaned closer, so close he could almost taste the blood on Eli's face. „I don't see you running away,“ he said, voice airy, like he was betraying a secret, mirth glinting in his blue eyes. Without waiting for an answer, Victor closed the little distance between them, pressing his split lips on Eli's bloody ones, moving ever so slightly.

The hunter didn't let Victor pull back. He held him securely in place, forcing his own mouth onto him, biting down on Victor's already tainted lips without a care in the world, cold blood trickling down their chins and into Eli's mouth.

Pulling away, Victor locked his eyes with Eli's, something indescribable flashing over his face. „Remember my taste, Eli _Ever_ ,“ he said before leaving a disgruntled Eli in the church yard, only a trail of red serving as evidence of him ever being there at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, that's it. Over 5000 words of nonsense.
> 
> Still, if you liked it, please don't hesitate to leave kudos and comments (I adore your comments <3 )!! And if you have any questions regarding my headcanons about vampires, feel free to ask and I will try to answer.
> 
> Or, if you prefer, come and yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/xungxtae).
> 
> Meanwhile, drink water and take care of yourselves!
> 
> Warm wishes,  
> Author.


End file.
